


Nimble, aren't ya?

by caprigender



Series: The adventures of Mica Lynne, Sole Survivor of Vault 111 and esteemed mayor of Trashtown Micatropolis [8]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, F/M, Genderqueer Character, Other, Recreational Drug Use, polyamory and bdsm mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The general is remarkably good at picking locks and Hancock finds himself somewhat compromised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nimble, aren't ya?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fallout kinkmeme here -> http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=18746723#t18746723  
> (writing for the kinkmeme is hella fun so im probs gonna do more!)
> 
> The pronouns for this sole survivor switch after each scene change instead of in the middle of a scene to lessen confusion.

“Nimble, aren’t ya?”

The first time the comment slipped from his lips he hadn’t even noticed he’d said anything until he saw her smile. That smug, self-satisfied grin spread across her face, altogether way too pleased with herself in a way that spelled trouble for him. She winked, tucking her lock picking tools away.

“Milliner’s hands,” she chuckled, wiggling her fingers at him and damn if that didn’t send something hot and hopeful uncurling in his gut. He wasn’t sure he recognized the word, but the way her hands moved made all sorts of lewd promises he really hoped she intended to keep. Images flashed through his mind, strong, slender fingers twisting inside of him, dragging pleasure out of him an inch at a time as he gasped and begged for more.

She had continued talking as she dug through the contents of the safe and he directed his attention back to her words. “… gotta be strong and flexible if you wanna be able to stitch buckram together. The flute lessons also probably helped, I’m sure.” She pocketed the ammunition, and the stimpacks, and all of the garbage that some fool had decided was valuable enough to lock away. She stood up with a groan and a sigh, popping vertebrae back into place. Hancock straightened his posture. He was just barely taller than her when she wasn’t wearing those ridiculous boots and he’d lived as a short guy long enough that he subconsciously tried to compensate for it. She clapped a hand on his shoulder as she walked past him and shot him another wink. “Anyways, Piper’s never complained before. Neither did Magnolia, for that matter.”

Hancock felt a white hot jolt of jealousy run down his spine at the comment. Sure he was happy his friend was getting her rocks off and having fun, but hey, nobody could blame him for being upset such a prime doll was off the market, so to speak. It certainly didn’t help that she kept flirting with him like this. Hell, he’d admitted to having “impure thoughts” and the minx had winked at him.

He let out a sigh and turned to follow the general as she continued through the ruins. Maybe he’d be able to figure her out with a little more time.

\- -

The way the general’s hands wrapped around the red plastic as he brought the jet canister to his lips was intoxicating. His fingers tapped lightly against the material in a jittery dance. Coupled with his lidded eyes and parted mouth with just the slightest hint of a flush on his cheeks, Hancock wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this kind of torment but he was loving every second of it.

He inhaled half the canister, eyes fluttering shut. He did that, micromanaged his dosage, never took enough for a fully-fledged trip. He claimed he didn’t like the out of control feeling. Hancock couldn’t relate, but he could respect that other man knew his boundaries.

Besides, he always got chatty when he was high, and that wasn’t so common when it came to jet, med-x, and really anything other than mentats. The smaller doses meant he kept up the gossip, and Hancock always liked the conversations.

The residual vapors poured out from between his lips, but he took a moment before tossing the half used inhaler back in his backpack. His fingers moved fluidly in a semiconscious twitching motion. The general’s hands were rarely still and the continual motion was already stirring something in Hancock’s mind. Damn, he really needed to get laid more often if they were going to continue traveling together.

“You certainly seem to hold your booze and drugs pretty well for a pre-war house spouse,” he began, trying to distract himself from the fluttering in his stomach. “Not to mention those lock picking skills. Something tells me you weren’t as wholesome as you like to pretend.” He paired the last comment with a wicked grin and was rewarded with an embarrassed look.

The general turned away, flipping the collar of his coat up to hide his blush. “Yeah, well, we weren’t exactly your typical household, you know? Mom stays home. Dad rakes in the big bucks. They have 2.5 kids and a dog. Nah, that wasn’t us,” he shook his head and smiled that soft melancholy smile that always accompanied talk of the past. His past, specifically. “Marni was the one pulling in the cash with her opera star act and sugar daddy. Nate was, well, he was surviving his 9-5 for the weekend poetry. And me? I don’t even know where an infertile, genderfucked nerd like me was supposed to fit into the typical nuclear household model.” He laughed and leaned back. “We were a couple of irresponsible artist types. The plan was to work when we could and then spend our free time fucked out of our heads making and consuming art. Write drunk, edit sober, you know?” He snorted, “Shaun was a complete accident. A loved and treasured little accident, but an accident.”

Hancock nodded. He was still getting used to the idea that the survivor had had both a husband and a wife before the war. He didn’t know much about pre-war politics, but he was fairly certain that was some kind of taboo. Still, he didn’t know enough to dispute it and two hundred or so years later he supposed it didn’t really matter, did it? It didn’t seem like the general had grown out of the habit either, at least, if Hancock was reading the interactions between him, his lieutenant, and that handyman back at sanctuary correctly. He was also still dating the reporter, as far as Hancock knew. 

The thought made him feel cautiously hopeful, and a little less guilty every time he caught himself craving those long, agile fingers playing across his skin, wrapped around his cock, pushing past his lips into the hot wetness of his mouth…

Hancock smirked, “Alright, sunshine, I believe you. But that still doesn’t explain the locks. Did you guys have a breaking and entering hobby, too?”

The general fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “you see, there’s uh… No, not exactly, but when you have a certain number of handcuffs for … uh… playtime, and a tendency for losing keys, you eventually learn to make do.”

“Oh my god.”

\- -

The general was every bit as talented with her hands as Hancock had imagined and then some. It was hard to get a ghoul off. Many had dulled nerve endings, thick skin, and various biological dysfunctions that made orgasm tricky. He didn’t particularly mind, if sex was only about orgasms he’d be better off on his own, after all. She made him rethink that sometimes.

The sensation of her mouth around his cock was one thing, hot and wet with just the right mixture of tongue and teeth to drive the feeling back into his rough skin. The fingers were something else.

He’d once asked where she’d managed to find so much quality lube out in the wastelands. She’d gone off on a tangent he only half remembered about vegetable starches, open source Mr. Handy coding, and the importance of safer sex. He hadn’t remembered much of what she’d said, but to be fair, he’d been a little preoccupied with stifling his own cries of pleasure so as not to interrupt her in her excitement. She was cute but damn could the general go off on a tangent.

He hissed and clutched the yellowed bedsheets in his fists as she dragged her finger over that sweet spot inside of him one more time. Her chuckle was low and smug and he pulled out his best cocky grin in response, trying to show just how composed he could be, trying to make it seem like she didn’t have him wrapped around her finger.

Well, he supposed she did, quite literally.

The thumb of her other hand rubbed slick against the head of his dick, slow and lazy in time with the finger curling inside of him. His hips gave an involuntary jolt, another shock of pleasure running through his stomach and up his spine as if he’d been electrocuted.

She lay her head down against his thigh, her lips pressed into his skin. She hummed against him, “God, Hancock, you’re so gorgeous like this. Look at you, all laid out and wrecked by my pretty little hands. I love it when you get like this.” She placed a kiss against the base of his dick. “So needy.”

Hancock felt his breathing get heavier. He let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a whine and the general laughed. God, that was something else. She could be down under him, inside of him up to the third knuckle, laughing at every moan and whimper that passed his lips and it still didn’t feel malicious. She was genuinely enjoying herself and that was definitely Hancock’s goal for each sexual encounter.

“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?” she purred up at him.

“Try me, sunshine,” he grit out between teeth clenched in a defiant grin. She smirked at him, fingers slowly starting to pick up the pace. Her tongue dragged up the underside of his cock until she reached the tip. Her lips wrapped around him and her cheeks hollowed out as she sucked on him, her fingers pressing insistently against his prostate again and again. He cried out, head tilting back, back arched off the bed, toes curling as she chased his pleasure without mercy. He knew the look on her face without looking down to see it. Determined. Self-satisfied. And more than a little bit awestruck.

That last one was a little hard to understand, in his opinion, but hey, he sure as hell wasn’t going to object. If she could find something beautiful in his radiation scarred face screwed up in concentration and pleasure bordering on pain, well he sure wasn’t going to stop her.

The tension in his stomach grew and he was having a hard time catching his breath. “I’m close, sunshine,” he choked out a warning, “Might wanna move your face away.” She hummed around him but made no move to pull back or let up. He felt the wave coming to a peak and fought to hold it off a bit longer. “Seriously, sis, last warning here.” He gasped as she suddenly took the rest of him in her mouth, swallowing down his length. One hand flexed inside of him and the other gripped his thigh tight enough to bruise and all of a sudden he felt the pressure inside him release and course through him like a summer storm.

Her fingers kept moving, holding him there on that breathless plateau as his mind unraveled and his whole body shivered in her arms. His voice cracked when he finally gasped at her to stop. Her fingers stilled, but stayed inside him for a moment longer before slowly pulling out. He curled up on his side as she went about cleaning up. He watched her pour out some clean water into a scrap cloth, wiping down the corners of her mouth and then each individual finger.

“You really didn’t have to do that, you know.”

She shrugged. “I took my rad-x today.” Her hands nudged his legs apart, “May I?” He snorted in response and spread his legs to let her clean him up. It wasn’t necessary, he could take care of himself, but he had to admit the nurturing was sort of cute. And the tenderness in her touch made his heart ache in all sorts of delicious ways.

She tossed the cloth across the room onto the floor and settled down behind him. “I call big spoon tonight.” She murmured into the hollow of his neck. He shrugged, pulling her arms up and around him. Her fingers danced over his skin, lightly tracing patterns and ghosting over the scarred lines left by the radiation. She could play him like an instrument, and it seemed like that was exactly what she wanted to do. What that meant for the two of them, Hancock wasn’t quite sure, but for the time being he was willing to lay back, relax, and enjoy whatever those hands could do to him.


End file.
